family, singing at the top of my lungs, and wendell berry

Last night I drove to my hometown to surprise my family with a long-overdue visit. Since starting the second job, I haven't had the time to visit so it was the first I'd seen of them in two months. It had the affect I'd hoped for - they were pleasantly surprised, and I scared my mom so badly she almost soiled herself. Success.

Seeing them always reminds me a little of where I came from and who I am, even though so much has changed in me since I lived there. Remembering that I am a daughter and a sister who is much loved is good for my heart, in a place where my chosen "family" is transient - always seeming to be on the way out.

My dad gave me his usual pitch to get me to move back, making plans for my future restaurant in the growing metropolis of Northport, Alabama - something he does that has become as predictable as rain in April. For the first time since I left for college it didn't seem completely ridiculous. Not that there are plans to move back - I love Birmingham way too much to leave right now. But it is good to know that the thought of living there doesn't give me hives anymore.

Besides getting to see my family, which is always good and has become more treasured in the past few years, there were other things about the trip that were good for my soul. One of my favorite things to do in the entire world is sing, which is something I don't get to do much of anymore. Singing for me is an emotional release - like screaming into the air, but nicer and not as exposing. This weekend I sang everywhere, my favorite being in the car with the windows rolled down. The weather has been so beautiful, and riding with my windows down is one of the most satisfying things in this season. It is also an effective way to dry your hair on the way to work.

With the busy-ness of life, I have been lunging at every opportunity for calm and quiet. The ferocity with which I pursue and protect those times seems somewhat counterintuitive, but I treasure them nonetheless. With the change in seasons, one of my favorite activities is reading outdoors - the ideal setting being in the morning with a cup of coffee. Possibly a blanket. My current literary undertaking is Jayber Crow by Wendell Berry. It is one I have been intending to read for a couple of years, and now seemed like the time - partly because I had a friend willing to lend me a copy, which is unlike me because I usually like to own books for myself. I feel like owning them makes them more a part of my life, and not just a passing whimsy. That is probably odd. But I have found it rather enjoyable to come across underlined passages and try to guess what he was thinking or feeling or longing for when he was reading it. A fun game, but one that I probably get entirely wrong. I asked him to lend me the copy just in time for my day off, and I savored it as much as possible between obligations, sometimes reading the words aloud and letting them move me almost to tears.

We have been reading through some of Berry's literature in community group and discussing stillness - how it is different than what we think and can be experienced even in the midst of chaos and everyday life. His works take me in - consume me completely in a world that is overwhelmingly other, and make me long for a rural life somewhere in the farmlands of Kentucky. Whether or not I would be content in such a setting is debatable, but I have no qualms with romanticizing the idea as a means of escape. No doubt I would long for the city and all things convenient, as I am wont to do when faced with the option of being still. "I'm not doing anything. I have to be doing something." But it is times when I am not still that I long for stillness the most. So I guess it's not all that bad.